


Other Criteria

by Elvendork



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Family, Gen, Post Episode: s03e06 St Petersburg, Protective MJN
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 00:14:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2328245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvendork/pseuds/Elvendork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a <a href="http://cabinpres-fic.dreamwidth.org/3282.html?thread=3235282#cmt3235282">prompt</a>. Gordon Shappey may be biologically related to Arthur, but that does not make him family. They have other criteria for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Other Criteria

**Author's Note:**

> Another de-anon from the meme. I need to stop trawling through the old prompts...  
> No owning, no profit, etc.

It doesn’t hit until they get back to Fitton. Arthur alternates between sleepily cheerful and just plain sleepy throughout the flight, and neither Douglas nor Martin have reason to suspect that anything is wrong. Even Carolyn only has any idea through long experience rather anything specifically about her son’s behaviour.

Disembarking at their home air field is a quiet affair. The whole crew is tired and quite keen to simply head home and get some well-earned rest. If Arthur seems more weary than entirely expected, then the others are too exhausted themselves to pay much attention. If his whispered ‘thank you’ as they exit the plane seems to be about more than just the return of GERTI to her rightful owner… no one notices. Not at first.

00000

Arthur is acting strangely for days afterwards. Of course, being Arthur, this could be for any number of reasons and it takes the pilots some time to piece it together.

Arthur very rarely misses even the dullest of cargo flights, so the fact that he is extra-insistent on remaining in the rest of the crew’s company at all times is nothing _too_ out of the ordinary. He is less keen than usual to explore the various destinations they find themselves in, unless one of the others suggests it first, in which case he can’t be ready fast enough. He is as helpful as ever – more so, if possible – but much more subdued about it. He is jumpy.

He is _scared_.

Martin realises this almost two weeks after their return from St Petersburg, and he cannot for the life of him work out why. They are on their way back from Prague. Martin has just taken a sip of his much-too-sweet coffee and only manages not to spit it out through extreme effort.

‘Skip? Is something wrong?’ Arthur asks immediately – nervously. He is wringing his hands and his eyes are wide with concern.

‘I don’t take sugar,’ Martin grimaces and sets his mug aside gingerly. Neither he nor Arthur notice Douglas’s minute frown.

‘Sorry!’ Arthur exclaims, grabbing the mug. ‘I forgot, I’m sorry, I’ll make another one – sorry –’

‘It’s fine,’ Martin interrupts, startled by the storm of apologies. ‘Arthur, are you –?’

‘I’m fine Skip, honestly, I’ll just –’ He bumps into the door frame on the way out and narrowly avoids spilling Martin’s discarded coffee down his front. ‘Sorry – back in a minute.’ Martin twists around and watches the door swing closed behind the steward before turning back to Douglas with an expression of concern.

‘Is it just me or does Arthur seem… odd, lately?’

‘It’s not just you,’ Douglas replies. The look on his face is thoughtful and then suddenly angry.

‘What is it?’ Martin asks quickly, as Douglas carefully schools himself back to apparent impassivity. There is still a grim set to his mouth and a hard glint to his eyes that gives away his irritation, though, and Martin is feeling more and more bewildered.

‘Probably nothing,’ Douglas replies, which is not remotely reassuring. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’

‘Douglas –’

‘You’ll manage without me for five minutes.’ Douglas’s tone does not leave any room for argument. Martin tries anyway.

‘Douglas, seriously, what’s going on? You just figured something out, didn’t you? What is it? What’s wrong with Arthur?’

‘Five minutes,’ Douglas repeats. Martin has no choice but to let him leave, though he has chewed his lip raw with worry before half the allotted time has passed.

00000

Douglas makes his way to the galley slowly, still processing his realisation and surprised by the strength of his own anger. He is a step away when he hears Arthur’s voice, which is trembling on the brink of tears. He cannot make out the words, but he listens carefully for the reply. Carolyn’s voice is much clearer than her son’s, and much softer than Douglas is used to hearing it, though still edged in her usual steel.

‘It’s not going to happen,’ she says firmly. ‘I promised you, didn’t I?’

Arthur’s response is either non-verbal or too faint for Douglas to make out; there is a slight pause, the rustling sound of fabric – Douglas would suspect a hug if he didn’t know better – and then Carolyn’s voice again.

‘Have you ever known me to break a promise?’ Carolyn’s voice sounds muffled, and Douglas has to correct his own assumption: it is definitely a hug. ‘Well then,’ Carolyn replies to whatever Arthur offered in reply this time, ‘why would now be any different?’

‘It wouldn’t,’ Arthur says, very quietly. He sounds reluctant, or more likely just uncertain. It is not a tone Douglas has ever heard from Arthur before. He finds himself gritting his teeth as wave after wave of paternally protective instincts wash over him.

‘Good,’ Carolyn replies briskly. ‘I won’t have you running away with the idea that I can’t beat your father in any fight I choose to take on – and believe me, I _would_ take it on. But even if that were in any doubt whatsoever, do you really think that those two idiot pilots would let anything happen to you?’

Douglas only just has the presence of mind to stumble back into the flight deck before either steward or CEO discovers him eavesdropping. He is half furious, half in shock. He barely notices Martin’s urgently quizzical glance as he collapses into the co-pilot’s seat once more.

‘Well?’ Martin demands, after some thirty seconds of silence. ‘What did he say?’

‘I didn’t speak to him,’ Douglas admits distantly. He is still processing what he just listened to. He isn’t sure if it is the confirmation of what has been bothering Arthur, or how readily Carolyn included he and Martin in the defence promises, that has shaken him so much. What she said was undoubtedly the _truth_ , but it is… unsettling to have come across mother and son in such a baldly honest moment.

‘What? Why not? Is he okay?’

‘Carolyn was with him. I overheard them talking.’

There is a long pause.

‘ _Well_?’ Martin insists impatiently. ‘Did you find out what’s wrong?’ Douglas arches an eyebrow.

‘I just said I didn’t speak to him.’

‘No, but you were gone far too long to have just heard them talking and come straight back. So what did you hear?’

Douglas considers stretching out the explanation even longer, if only for the amusement of seeing Martin become steadily more exasperated, but quickly decides against it. The matter is too serious, and Martin’s worry too evident, to make light of it.

‘I think he’s worried that his father is going to take him away.’

‘But… what?’ Martin splutters, confused. ‘What do you mean? Do you mean – but he’s twenty-nine!’

‘He’s _Arthur_ ,’ Douglas replies pointedly. ‘And whoever said fear had to be rational?’

If Martin has a reply, it is lost when the flight deck door opens once again to reveal Arthur, slightly puffy eyed but otherwise all smiles, with a fresh mug of sugar-less coffee for Martin.

00000

‘Carolyn,’ Douglas calls, hurrying a little to catch up with her before she disappears into her office. Martin is already rushing off to finish paperwork; Arthur is tidying the plane. Carolyn turns and waits imperiously.

‘Something wrong?’ Carolyn asks, ‘Because you should know my opinions about that by now.’

‘Arthur,’ Douglas replies bluntly. Carolyn’s expression creases momentarily into a frown. She looks thoughtful, then sighs and backs into her office. ‘Come in,’ she orders, sweeping around her rickety desk as though it is a study worthy of a monarch, but taking her seat heavily. ‘What about him?’

‘I heard you on the plane,’ Douglas decides to cut straight to the point. He sits down in one of the spare chairs carefully. He is all too aware of how likely it is for something in this place to collapse beneath the weight of a feather.

‘You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.’

‘Was it a long custody battle?’ Douglas’s voice is almost casual; he keeps his tone deliberately light but makes no effort to disguise how false the levity is, and his expression is nothing but concern. Carolyn looks immediately affronted, then irritable, and then her face seems to collapse into decades-old lines of all too familiar parental concern.

‘Yes,’ she replies, with a failed effort at sharpness. She shuffles a pile of papers unnecessarily.

‘Do you –?’

‘I am not discussing this with you,’ Carolyn cuts him off. ‘It’s over. This happens every time he runs into his father, and I am left picking up the pieces –’ she stops and takes a sharp breath, evidently having already said more than she was intending. ‘Look, I apologise for dragging your name into it, if that’s what you want, but –’

‘What on earth makes you think _that’s_ what I’m here for?’ Douglas interrupts, genuinely taken aback. Carolyn looks almost equally confused. ‘Of course Martin and I would never let Gordon do anything to hurt Arthur. Did you not believe that?’

‘I was trying to comfort my son. I don’t have to explain my motives to you.’

‘Of course you don’t,’ Douglas assures her swiftly, more dismissive than comforting. ‘I just wanted to know if I could help.’

‘You what?’

‘I wanted to know if I could help,’ Douglas repeats.

‘I can deal with this myself, Douglas,’ Carolyn warns, her voice becoming dangerously low.

‘I know. But the offer is there if you choose to take it up,’ Douglas assures her, standing up. ‘You know where to find me.’ His hand is on the door before Carolyn responds, quietly enough that Douglas almost doesn’t hear her.

‘Just… be there, alright?’

Douglas nods and exits without another word.

00000

They have the next two days free, which means a stream of van jobs for Martin and some rare time with his youngest daughter for Douglas. Neither of them precisely _dwells_ on the Arthur situation, but neither of them forgets it either. It is a constant low-level hum in the back of their minds which is part concern for their friend and part badly suppressed fury at Gordon Shappey. How _dare_ he frighten Arthur in this way? How dare _anyone_? Something must be done about it.

The third day after their trip to Prague they are on standby. Douglas, as is his custom on such days, arrives almost an hour late. Given the precise moment he manages to walk in, however, he will later claim that his timing was ideal.

‘… Most fun we ever had,’ Martin is saying. He twists the ring on his little finger absently.

‘He sounds amazing, Skip,’ Arthur enthuses. ‘Oh, hello Douglas.’

‘Morning all,’ Douglas greets the two younger men lazily. He assumes Carolyn is in her office. Martin is behind his obsessively neat desk, though he has either already finished every piece of paperwork he can find, or his conversation with Arthur has distracted him extremely thoroughly. Given his diligence when it comes to log-books and the like, Douglas is assuming the former. Arthur is leaning against Douglas’s desk, facing Martin and tossing an apple slowly from hand to hand.

‘Hi,’ Martin offers distractedly. Then: ‘He was,’ he says, turning back to Arthur and sounding surprised at his own words. ‘I mean… we didn’t exactly see eye to eye, but… we used to be quite close, when I was younger.’ He smiles sadly.

‘I wish my Dad was like that,’ Arthur muses quietly, suddenly uncharacteristically solemn. An awkward silence falls. Douglas manoeuvres himself into his own seat and watches Arthur carefully. He has stopped throwing the apple and is now picking at the stem in silence. Then, quite suddenly, he seems to come to a decision. ‘Do you think – do you think if I was… different, do you think then my Dad would – you know…?’

‘No,’ Martin and Douglas reply in unison, both rather louder than they had intended.

‘Sorry,’ Martin adds quickly, ‘but… no Arthur. Don’t ever think that. The way your father behaves is not in any way your fault.’

‘He doesn’t deserve you anyway,’ Douglas adds sincerely. ‘You’re far too good for him.’

Arthur looks startled but pleased by their vehemence, but then his face falls into worry once more.

‘I nearly ended up living with him,’ he admits, speaking more to the apple than either pilot. He looks more dejected than either Martin or Douglas has ever seen him; even in St Petersburg there was a certain amount of defiant hope. It slowly dawns on the pilots that this hope might very well have been for their benefit, which only fuels their ire towards Gordon.

‘Your mother would never have let that happen,’ Douglas assures him firmly.

‘She couldn’t help it,’ Arthur replies. ‘Dad got his lawyer to say… all sorts of stuff, like she wasn’t a very good Mum, and – I didn’t want to but nobody would listen to me, and there was nothing Mum could do, and…’ He falls silent.

‘It’s okay,’ Martin says when it becomes clear that Arthur is not going to continue. He glances at Douglas for support. ‘It was a long time ago – right? It didn’t happen.’

‘I know,’ Arthur replies, with a brave but unsuccessful attempt at cheeriness. His next words are mumbled almost inaudibly. ‘I still worry about it sometimes though. I don’t want to go away from here. I like it here. With Mum, and GERTI, and you guys, but Dad – sometimes I think… and in St Petersburg, he nearly…’

‘Arthur…’

‘I know it’s stupid,’ his voice is stronger now, but the confidence is forced and self-deprecating. ‘I know he can’t do anything now, I’m too old. Sometimes I just –’

‘It’s okay,’ Martin repeats. ‘You don’t have to explain. We get it.’

‘You do?’ The hope in Arthur’s voice and face is painful to observe; it is so guarded, so uncertain. Douglas makes a mental note to have something unspeakably humiliating happen to Gordon Shappey at the first available opportunity.

‘Fear doesn’t make sense,’ Douglas puts in gently. ‘You can still be scared of something even though you know it isn’t going to happen.’

‘Exactly,’ Martin agrees. Arthur is looking between them as though he hardly dares believe his ears. ‘But if you can’t convince yourself that you’re safe because it’s not going to happen in the first place… Can you at least believe that if it _did_ , we’d back you up in an instant? We’d never let Gordon take you away, alright?’

‘You promise?’ asks Arthur, sounding twenty years younger than he is.

‘We promise,’ Douglas states firmly.

‘Thanks,’ Arthur’s smile is shaky but genuine; his voice quiet but sincere. ‘I wish… never mind.’

‘You wish what?’ asks Martin.

‘I wish you guys were – no, it doesn’t matter, it’s silly.’

‘Arthur,’ Martin implores. ‘Seriously, what is it?’

‘I just wish you two were – I mean instead of…’ Arthur shuffles his feet and trails off again. Even Douglas, who has known Arthur considerably longer than Martin has, has never seen him this uncomfortable or uncertain. Even so, Douglas will never know why it takes so long for Arthur’s meaning to click. When it does, he does not immediately reply. His lips part in a silent exclamation of surprise – but again, really, why is he surprised?

‘We are, Arthur,’ Douglas says simply. Martin’s puzzled frown deepens, then vanishes altogether as the realisation finally hits him, too.

‘Really?’ Arthur asks, with a little of his old bounce back. ‘Do you mean that?’

‘Of course,’ Martin adds, a little weakly. Just because Gordon Shappey is biologically related to Arthur does not make him _family_. The very idea is so ludicrous as to almost be laughable. They have other criteria for that. 

‘Thank you,’ says Arthur, pouring as much feeling as he can into the words, which is not enough. ‘You guys are… What’s something more than brilliant?’

‘Brilliant will do just fine,’ Douglas replies with a smile.  
 


End file.
